A note died in my ear, here, at your … funeral.
I need to call it that, a funeral, even if the program here says Celebration.
It is a sad day for me. And for H. And I want to feel it all.

A note died in my ear today. My left ear. It hummed to a singular pitch, just moments ago. This note held itself there, in this ear, sharp and clear, a direct line to my brain… then died. A hair in a cochlea sang its last song, and hummed to a tremble, then ….

A note died in my ear today, while I cried through that recording of your performance of Barber with the Orchestra.

I cry and H intones, tearful but clear, proud and, with entendre to spare, he says “I cannot imagine my life without you.” He cries. I cry.

A note died in my ear. A single hair. A tone.

You had few words.
I hear the celebrant say “that his music spoke for him” as a way of…. I remember your small mouth when I think of your few words. H and I had so many. Always have so many. That’s how we are. For that whole trip I was positively bursting with them. Every time we stopped for some Harak and a taste of the local place there were words. You would drink in the place with your eyes and your ears, but you wouldn’t say much. You have a small mouth, and few words. You had a small mouth. Had few words. I don’t know if they came easy to you, as few as they were, those words. I think they did. Easier than mine…

I will regret thinking you cheap, rather than frugal. I do that with the ingenerous. I remember that the only time I asked you to get me a drink, you did. I had to ask you to return the favour, but you didn’t hesitate much, and you were quick when you realised. I will remember that time. That moment where your hands, pointing down to the earth as if posed at a piano, turned together then up. You said “Yes.” And you listened to one sentence… and really listened… I regret thinking you cheap. I will be more forgiving of others. I will not let my own generosity be a lever for my anger and resentment, for my sense of injustice or (more sharp) my sense of abandonment. I will be better to people in this way, in memory of you, those hands, that moment, this one. And that tone I will never hear again.

I regret that you took to the back seat of the car. I regret that you weren’t there with H in the passenger seat next to him. It was your last time together– not that any of us knew that then. I promise I’ll be a great friend to him in your absence. I am here with him today. I will be here again for him later. I will be there for him even if I’m physically somewhere else. I promise that to you too.

I regret that I cannot forgive. Anyone. Not really ever. I don’t forget anything. And I also never forgive. I know this is bad. I promise to live up to the memory of the love that S described in you. That letter. That Goodbye Letter to you. Those Great qualities that I barely saw in you. I will try to “love so much that I can forgive.” This will be hard for me, It will not be natural, but I will do it because it is Great. I will do it in memory of you and I will do it because a note died in my ear this day.

The Ocean, all these words of the Ocean— The Ocean! Oh, the Ocean! I didn’t even know that we shared that. All our time was in the Desert… The great silences of the ocean. Is that where your silences come from? Where they came from? I will remember you in the Ocean. I will remember it for you. I will remember it in you. I will be there with it, and I will see my own soul and yours in its passions and its silences. And I will cry salty tears into it for you, and for me.

A note died in my ear today.
I will never hear that tone again,
but I will do all these things in memory of you.

And so,
looking to the horizon and your sea, friend, I bid you Hail and Farewell.